


so get a little day drunk

by grimmauld



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 20:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17752823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmauld/pseuds/grimmauld
Summary: Enj and R get drunk, makeout and talk about feelings. Shocking, I know.





	so get a little day drunk

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'day drunk' by morgan evans :)
> 
> i haven't written exr for a While and also i'm not super confident with their characters so please let me know if something seems off! also comments and kudos make my day!!!
> 
> come hang out on tumblr: fortescuee.tumblr.com

He was drunk but so was I. Our hands and thighs pressed together in a motionless dance. We were dancing around each other, dancing to ‘if’s and ‘maybe’s but not to yes. Never to yes. We were drunk and with intoxication came the release of inhibitions. He told me that I was a greek god; flawless and untouchable. With my lips on his, I told him to be quiet. We were quiet. And then, as though we were incapable of silence and contentment for more than one minute, there was a soft murmur. A murmur passed between our mouths, filling the spaces between tongue on tongue. Lip on lip.  
  
“R,” I had said. It was simple. It was devastating.   
  
With one syllable the fog had been lifted, the perfect picture frame broken. He pushed himself away. He was drunk, and so was I, and now we were back to being two ends, never meeting in the middle. Opposites attract, not enough. I was never enough for him. A shared thought that would never escape our minds. We were both too little and too much. Too late. He was drunk and he staggered off. The mirror shattered. We were not one, we were not whole, we were a mess of fragmented memories and illusions. Too many false starts. We could never be together, our relationship was doomed from its beginning. Doesn’t mean I don’t still love him.

Sometimes I think I talk too much. Too loud. I don’t let others speak enough. Sometimes I worry that I write in too short of sentences. Too fast-paced. Too angry. I try to force myself into long, winding sentences, filled with commas, words and conjunctions. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like slowing down the revolution in the mind and in the body. I’ll add them in anyway. For the subtle difference in my speeches, where I rally the revolutionaries with long and poetic sentences, paint pictures of our riots with words a direct link to their minds. I hope that it works for them. I hope it makes them feel like they’re a part of something. Sometimes I feel like I’m building a defence, using my words as a means to hide behind. Hide from the way people perceive me. He never did, Grantaire. He saw me as who I truly am. A man with a dream and with a passion but nowhere to run from my own demons. A leader trying to create, the opposite of war. I tried to create, to lead. Lead a cause that sometimes acts just as a wall to hide behind. Doesn’t mean that the wall isn’t important.

When my hand reached for his again, after he had pulled away, it moves with a latent caution I’m not overly used to seeing in myself. I’ve never been cautious before. I always threw myself headfirst into battle. Words or fists.

“Enj,” he said, only just above a whisper, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to kiss you,” I replied, “I thought that much was obvious.”

He sighed softly, the corner of his mouth turning upward slightly before falling once again.

“I guess I should rephrase my question. Why are you doing this? What do you stand to gain from me?”

I looked at him, drinking in his tired features. Running my eyes over his body. Dark brown curls tumbling to just above his ears with no discernable pattern. Yellow paint smudged above his right brow, just barely still there. Washed away but not enough. Sort of like us, I suppose. Army green hoodie. Unwashed, oversized, warm. There was a faded logo on the front, too old to read now. Soft stomach hidden beneath it. Old black jeans, ripped at the knee, accidentally showing off the tattoo he got after losing a bet to Courfeyrac. It’s simple, never bet against Courfeyrac. It was just a small one, the tattoo on his knee. Three words, the first in Courf’s handwriting, the middle in Combferre’s and the third in my own. I’m perhaps most fond of this tattoo than all of Grantaire’s others. ‘For the Cause’. I still don’t know how Courf managed to convince ‘Ferre to participate in the creation of that tattoo. You’d think he’d have more sense than writing what would be on his friend’s body forever after a lost bet, but I suppose some people can surprise you.

I was easy to convince, obviously. I was already knee-deep in love with Grantaire at that point in time. When he looked at me with a pleading puppy-dog eyed face I was instantly a goner. I didn’t even question that things could go wrong.That he’d be left with a constant reminder of me, permanently on his flesh. I wrote out the word Cause, trying to project all of my whirlwind emotions into the single word. It ended up stupid, but he loved it. ‘CaUSe’. Capital ‘C, A, U’. I think my handwriting is just childlike.

“I thought it were obvious, R,” I said, finally. “Love you. Have for a while, thought you already knew.”

“Maybe we just need to talk more.” He replied, after a few seconds.

I hummed an affirmative. Words didn’t flow like the paint from his brushes when it came to him talking about me, so it seemed. I’m not so good at talking, either. Not when it isn’t on paper first. My head lolled and rested on his shoulder, eyes slipping shut. I wanted to block every part of the world out. Everything but him. I suppose that says something about me, but I couldn’t worry about that when he was next to me, an arm around my waist. Drunk, but then so was I. We were good. The world was still. A small smile played at my lips. Still.

**Author's Note:**

> pls comment and kudos i really fuccing need the validation <3


End file.
